Take Them by the Legs
by Harpokrates
Summary: Her idiot cousin's been sneaking around; Arcee's going to find out why. It'd better not be drugs. Part two of human AU.


The key jiggled in the lock. The noise was accompanied by some muttered cursing and a few solid thumps as the person behind the front door applied their shoulder to the sticky wood.

The rainy season always made everything humid.

Arcee shifted in the overstuffed armchair and closed her book. It was decent, some paperback thriller Jack had lent her when she picked him up to go to school on Friday—poor June was still pulling overtime—that she hadn't had time to read. She placed it on the side table and sat up straight.

"Bumblebee," she said when the door finally creaked open, "we need to talk."

Her cousin looked startled for a second, before he recognized her and let his keys hang loose in his hand. Arcee held back a snort. The overconfident idiot still hadn't put the mace she'd given him on his keyring. It was an unwise decision, especially since he frequented the underground part of town so often. Speaking of that…

Arcee leveled a glare at him.

"Uh," he slipped inside, his back pressed against the wall, "hi, Arcee. I didn't know you still had a key."

"Optimus gave it to me."

"Did he?" Bee pulled off his jacket and tossed it over his couch. "That's nice of him, I guess. I can find you some blankets if you wanna stay, but—"

"Bumblebee."

He sighed. "Yeah?"

"Take a seat."

Bee rolled his eyes, but complied regardless, slumping down onto the couch with a scowl etched at the corners of his mouth. "You know you used that same tone when you were pissy that I hid your toys when we were kids."

"And you've been using the same deflection techniques for just as long," Arcee leaned forwards in her chair. "Where were you?"

Bee shrugged. "Out. Met up with some friends. Didn't notice how late it was til I got home."

Arcee gave him a hard look. "And that's all?"

Bumblebee shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. C'mon, Arcee, lay off."

Arcee jabbed a finger at him. "Don't you tell me to lay off, Bumblebee! If you keep street racing, you're gonna get caught, and _Optimus_ will end up taking the fall for you."

"Racing?" Genuine confusion spread over Bee's face, "What?"

" _Street racing_ , Bee. That illegal hobby of yours? Ring any bells?"

"I wasn't racing," Bee crossed his arms, "besides, it's my business how I live my life."

"Don't start! You _know_ Optimus got accused of nepotism for giving you that aide job; what's it gonna look like when you get busted for racing? You screwing up won't just affect you. Do you _want_ Optimus to lose the election?"

Bee looked deeply guilty for a flash, but then his old hard-headedness steeled over it like a mask. "C'mon, Arcee," he waved a hand, "I'm not doing anything. Besides, I never get caught."

"I can't believe you. He practically raised you, and you're just blowing that off?"

That did seem to cut deep, and Bee refused to meet her eyes, choosing to stare at the dirty carpet. She knew him well enough to recognize shame in the slump of his shoulders. Bee was impulsive and often said things he regretted in the heat of the moment. It had lead to more than a few fights in their childhood, but nothing that lasted longer than the time it took Optimus to give them another lecture about teamwork and friendship.

"I'm not racing," he said eventually, "really, I'm not."

"Then, where have you been?" Arcee rubbed her forehead. "Ratchet says you take off as soon as work ends, and Ms. Esquivel hasn't seen you lately, so you can't be hanging out with Raf… What are you getting into, Bee?"

"I—"

"Is it drugs?" Arcee asked blatantly, "You know I can get you help if it is."

"Primus, Arcee," Bee sat up straight, "I come home late a few times and you think I'm on Dark Energon or something? Is this a cop thing? All the arresting just makes you see druglords around every corner?"

"A few times? Try a few weeks, Bee. You've pulled a vanishing act."

"I just," Bee reached up to rub the back of his neck, shifting the collar of his button-up in the process.

"Bee," Arcee gaped, "is that a hickey?"

Bee slapped a hand over the bruise—Arcee could _distinctly_ make out teeth, gah—and flushed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously _me_? How about seriously _you_?" Arce pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe you're sneaking home at three am with hickies."

"Okay," Bee held up a finger, "one, this is my house; I'm not sneaking anywhere. And two, I'm an adult. Like, a grown-ass adult, Arcee. I can vote, I can drink, I can rent a car if I want. Why is me having hickies any sort of deal?"

"Bee, you had us worried you were doing _drugs_ , and it turns out you just have a secret boyfriend?"

Bee looked away, his face red and a little ashamed.

Arcee's heart broke for him. She leaned across the living room and grabbed his hand. "Did you not think you could tell me?" She asked gently.

"It's not that, Arcee," Bee squeezed her hand back and sat up, "I just, I don't know. I wanted to keep it to myself. He's not—I mean. I don't know how everyone would feel about him."

That set off the warning bells.

"Why?" Arcee squinted. "What's wrong with him?"

Bee shot her a scandalized look. "What? Nothing, there's nothing _wrong_ with him. Vector Sigma, Arcee!"

"You know that isn't what I meant," Arcee pointed at him, "What? Does he have a criminal record? Is he an alcoholic? Drug problems?"

"No!" Bee shouted in exasperation. "Why is it always drugs with you? No, he's a doctor."

Arcee frowned. Theirs was a small town, maybe two thousand people, total, give or take a few hundred drifters. There were maybe two doctors, and the local hospital, which she ignored—it was full of surgeons, nurses, and an unsettling black mold that got it pulled from Joint Commission accreditation. Red Alert, the pediatrician, was a woman, and couldn't be Bee's new beau, so that left...

Cold terror blossomed in Arcee's stomach. "You don't mean," she whispered, horrified, " _Ratchet_?"

Bee's face contorted in disgust. "Ratchet? Primus, Arcee!"

"You said he was a doctor!"

"Ratchet is like my granddad! Seriously, Arcee, you have a major problem with conclusions, and the jumping to thereof."

"Okay, okay," Arcee held her hands up, "let me start over then. Bumblebee, who's your boyfriend? What's he like? How'd you meet?"

Bee shrugged. "You'll probably yell at me for that, so I'm just going to tell you we met at a car show."

Car show. Right. That meant racing.

"Bumblebee."

"Lay off. Anyways, he's uh, well, he's pretty dramatic."

"Oh, like an actor?"

Bee scratched the back of his head. "No, more like he locked himself in his bathroom and refused to talk to me all day because I wore socks with sandals to one of our dates once."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," Bumblebee grinned a stupid, besotted grin. Oh no. "But he's funny, and smart, and handsome, and," Bee made some incomprehensible gesture that only he understood, "I must be in the honeymoon phase or something, because he's just so great. I think he's great."

Arcee gaze flickered to the floor for a second. "You love him?"

Bee recoiled. "I've known him for all of a month, Arcee. I'm not that tall guy you work with, ah…"

"Chromedome?"

"Yeah. Look, I mean," Bee settled back into the chair and absently rubbed his chest, "I don't know. I could. Eventually."

"You're such a sap." Arcee chuckled, patting him on the knee.

"Oh, I'm the sap?" Bee protested.

"Yeah, look at you, waxing poetic. Sap."

"At least I can talk to the guy. Unlike someone I know, whose name begins with an 'A', and ends with a 'I once punched a guy because I needed an excuse to ask him out'."

"Bee."

"Seriously, Arcee. You know I saw Moonracer at the rac—er, car show. She seemed like she was into you, and she told me she wasn't even _that_ upset about you passing out."

"I _told_ you that was from pain. You know, from getting _shot_. The only reason I had time off to go on a date in the first place. Any of this ring a bell in your thick skull?"

Bee waved her off. "Yeah, whatever. The fact remains that poor Moonracer was practically pining for you and—"

Arcee threw a decorative pillow at him. An embroidered image of Santa wishing everyone a Merry Christmas decorated it; it was the middle of October. She stifled a sigh.

"Okay, okay," Bee spit out a wisp of fake beard, "I'll stop. But seriously, Arcee, you should ask her out. She seemed a little lonely."

"Bee…"

"What? Is it because she's rich?"

"No, I," Arcee closed her eyes, and tried to ignore the images of body tags that kept flashing in the darkness. "I don't want to talk about it."

Bee caught her pensive mood. "Does this have something to do with Cliffjumper?" he asked cautiously.

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"It wasn't your fault. You know that, right? You couldn't have done anything—"

"Shut up!" A sick curdle of anger swelled in her chest. "Just shut up!"

"You don't get to drill me over my relationships then clam up when I turn it on you!"

Arcee stood up. Bee mirrored her. She only came up to his chin, but she knew he was unused to anger. He'd cow, and then she could leave. She had to get out before she had to think about those two bodies, zipped tight in their black bags, about those two closed-casket funerals, about that sick, pitying _look_ everyone gave her, about the bland dinners and tupperware she never returned, about the clothes she kept finding in her laundry, two distinct styles, both too big to ever have fit her—

"It wasn't your fault, Arcee," Bee said again. His anger had always been transient, even when they were children. He couldn't hold a grudge to save his life.

Arcee's mouth moved before she could think. "I wish it was. I'd know who to blame."

Bee hugged her, patting her back awkwardly and making vaguely comforting noises at her. She slapped his shoulder until he let her go, and scrubbed her face dry with her sleeve. When had she started crying?

Arcee slumped back on the couch. "I'm pathetic."

Bee sat next to her, and put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't say that."

She shrugged him off. "You know why I don't date? Look at me, Bee. Two d—deaths. I," Arcee covered her face with her hands, "is it me? _Was_ it me? Cliff didn't even know Tailgate, there was _nothing_ linking them, except me. What happens when I get someone else killed? What happens when I fall in love and they die because of it?"

"Arcee…"

"I know it's stupid, but, I just—" she sighed, and it sounded more like a sob, "what if it is me?"

"What if it isn't, and you spend the rest of your life alone because of it?"

"Shut up, Bee," she said tiredly, not unkindly, "I don't want to deal with it now."

"At least tell me you'll call Moonracer. You can be friends, if nothing else."

Arcee didn't answer. She pushed herself to her feet and staggered into Bee's messy kitchen. She shot the sink full of dirty dishes a nasty glare. It was only after going through every cabinet in the kitchen that she realized his mugs were permanently dirty, and probably lived at the edge of the sink, waiting to be washed.

"Where do you keep the coffee?" she asked over the spray of the faucet. At least Bee had dish soap.

"Pantry, top left. I'll get it," Bee leaned past her and retrieved a bag of instant coffee that looked like he had bought it back in his freshman year of college, and then let it gather dust behind the chips for the eight or so years that had past since then. Arcee fought back a sneeze and shut off the water.

Arcee cringed at the expiration date, but made herself a cup anyways. It smelled bitter and tasted worse. She took a breath and let the caffeine focus her thoughts.

"Alright."

"What?" Bee looked up from complementing the depths of his cabinet.

"Alright," Arcee took a sip of coffee and leaned her hip against the counter, "I'll talk to Moonracer."

"That's great! Guh, uh, let me find her number," he pulled out his phone, "I think it's in here somewhere. I got Blurr's number at the race, and he should know her's. Give me a sec."

Bee typed a message to this 'Blurr'. His phone buzzed immediately after he sent it.

"Okay, 555-234-0092."

Arcee saved the number to her contacts. "Did he really reply that fast? It's nearly four thirty in the morning."

"Yeah, I don't think Blurr sleeps. Like, ever. He probably owns stock in five hour energy."

Arcee snorted. "So, you met Moonracer, Blurr, and your doctor friend at this 'car show'?"

"Hm, yeah. Ran into some less savory characters, too, but it was pretty cool overall. I'd invite you next time, but, uh, that'd be a terrible idea."

"I'd imagine most people who wander out in the small hours of the night to go racing are unsavory types."

Bee shooed her. "Seriously, most of them are totally cool. We, ah, ran into this total asshole though. Some big guy named Motor-something."

Arcee narrowed her eyes. "Motormaster?"

"Yeah," Bee glanced at her in surprise, "how'd you know that?"

"I shouldn't tell you police stuff," she waved her mug, sloshing coffee up the sides.

"Police stuff? Sigma," Bee whispered, running his hand over his mouth, "I almost got into a fight with him. What'd he do?"

Arcee considered. Bee had been racing. If she could conclusively prove Motormaster was breaking his parole, then they could drag him in and lock him up until someone found something concrete about that missing construction worker. A slight pang of guilt curdled her stomach, but manipulating her cousin into an interrogation was for the greater good.

"Swear to secrecy, okay?" She held out her pinky. Bee wrapped his pinky around hers, and they both bit their thumbs. "Alright, so, last May, no, I have to go further back. Bulkhead hired an old friend of his for a demolition project about five years ago; said they went back and that he felt bad for the guy—Breakdown. He showed up to work pretty consistently, until sometime in April, when he basically fell off the map. No one knew where he went."

Bee nodded, his bright eyes focused on her.

"They found his body by the riverbank last May. We all assumed it was a drowning, until forensics took a closer look at his skull. It had been fractured—blunt force trauma. No bruising, but that was only because his body was in the water for so long. _Not_ a pretty sight. Anyways, that implies to us that we've got a murder on our hands."

"And you think Motormaster is responsible?"

Arcee sucked air through her teeth. "Yes and no. We pulled him over for speeding and found ten grams of Dark Energon in his back seat, along with Breakdown's wallet. Prowl raked him over the coals and found nothing else. Motormaster just claimed that Breakdown left the wallet in his car and he forgot to return it."

"For over a month?"

"My thoughts exactly. But it isn't like we can just haul him in for that. We need something else, something concrete."

"Breakdown," Bee said suddenly, "I've heard that name before."

"What? When?"

"At the car show. He—Motormaster—was posturing and shit, and Knock Out started sassing at him. He mentioned Breakdown, something like 'how's Breakdown doing?'. But if he's dead, then.."

Bee fell silent. Arcee tried to keep from fidgeting. Poor Bee, he could never keep a secret.

"Hey, Bee," Arcee dumped the rest of her coffee down the drain, casual as could be, "I hate to run out on you, but I've got work in, hn, two hours."

"Oh," Bee snapped out of his thoughts, "yeah, sure. C'mere."

He opened his arms for a bear hug, and lifted Arcee off the ground. "Don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"Well, the next time I break in, I'll try to do it during the daylight hours. See you."

She let herself out, and heard the click of the lock behind her. Arcee walked over to her squad bike, dialing as she went.

The voice on the other end of the line was groggy. "Arcee? The hell do you want? 'S five am."

"Wheeljack," she said, staring at the lights blazing from behind the blinds, "I have a lead."

There was a muffled thump over the speaker and Wheeljack's voice came back more clearly. "What?"

"A lead. On Breakdown. Do you remember that surgeon, Knock Out? I think you should pay him a visit."

Arcee hung up shortly after. She started her engine, and tried not to feel guilty. Her tires ate away at the dark road, drinking up the dim light cast by the streetlights.

It was for the greater good.

* * *

Today's title comes form Spellbound, by Souxie and the Banshees.

No other notes today, but if I've failed to explain something, please feel free to ask.

Thank you for reading!


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